into the lock of the door at the left, in front of which stood
the brown trunk.

The key served, as she had felt certain it would. Hastily she locked
herself into the room, and switched on the light. It was a mean little
room, a facsimile of Peterson's in most of its features, but a woman's
clothing hung from hooks on the door, and on the bed and chairs and
dressing table a woman's belongings were flung untidily about; hats,
gloves, collars, and a handbag of jet and steel beads. Kit must have
hated to leave that bag, thought Clo. She drew the ribbons, and took a
hasty peep at the bag's contents. There was a soiled suede purse, and in
that purse, mixed up with a few greenbacks, there were some papers. Clo
dared not stop to examine them. She could only hope that they might give
clues which she had failed to obtain from the telephone.

There were four or five frocks hanging on the door, showy blouses and
bright-coloured skirts; but Clo searched in vain for pockets. In the
chest of drawers, which was the twin of Peterson's, was a certain amount
of underclothing, much trimmed with cheap lace. There were silk
petticoats with torn frilling, and shoes and slippers. But nothing was
marked with name, or even initials. Kit, though gaudily coquettish in
her taste, was apparently careless in her habits. Clo no longer visioned
Kit large, masculine, and determined, a tigress woman. Instead she saw a
lithe, cat-like creature, strong, no doubt (it had taken strength to
strike that blow and Clo would have staked her life that it had been
struck by Kit) but not big or massive.

The five minutes grace must certainly have passed before Clo had come to
the end of her inspection, but the telephone was silent. This struck the
girl as ominous, for it might mean that Kit had appeared in person at
the other end of the line. It might mean that some trap was being laid
to catch Kit's double.

"If she turns up, and tells everything, they can't let me get away with
what I know, even about Krantz's Keller," Clo told herself. "They'll
have to send someone to watch, especially if they think I'm a 'tec,
who's found Peterson's body. They won't know what I'm like. All the
same, if they don't call me up in just one minute more, I must make a
bolt. I'll count sixty, and--see what happens."

XXII

THE VOICE THAT DID NOT SEEM STRANGE

What happened was that the telephone began ringing in the next
room--Peterson's room. It began when Clo had co